


As I Walked Out One Evening

by wolfy



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Cutting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, reference to Kieren/Rick, they did the do before they came back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfy/pseuds/wolfy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon’s apartment is a shithole. Kieren looks away from the small bag of white powder of the coffee table. There are empty beer bottles strewn about, empty fifths. Kieren knows he should feel afraid, or concerned, but all he feels is, thank god he’s more fucked up than me, and then they’re in Simon’s room (or what Kieren guesses is Simon’s room), and Kieren is being pushed on the mattress. The mattress is on the floor, no frame, and there are ripped up magazines and open books strewn about the room. The room feel small, claustrophobic, but Kieren kisses Simon again, just to feel what it’s like. To kiss someone who isn’t afraid to kiss him back.</p><p>Kieren and Simon met before they died at a house party. Rick has left for the army and Simon's an addict, and both Kieren and Simon feel pretty fucking alone. They find solace in each for a night, but that doesn't stop either of their deaths. They meet again in the cemetery through Amy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Walked Out One Evening

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always looking for more Simon/Kieren fic and recently I've gotten a bit desperate so I've decided to write my own. It's been a hell of a long time since I've written any fic, and even longer since I've posted. So, be kind, y'all. Let me know if you feel I've missed any tags. Also, this isn't beta'd, so... yeah. 
> 
> Title's from the W. H. Auden poem of the same name.
> 
> I should warn that this fic has depictions of Kieren cutting himself (and killing himself). I wouldn't say it's too graphic, but if that triggers you steer clear.

Being in Roarton after Rick leaves is… hard, for Kieren. He had never been particularly accepted by the people of his town, and now he didn’t have Rick to hide behind when he was being made fun of. Not that Rick was always a huge help. Kieren understands, maybe, but the shift between Rick in the cave and Rick with others was shocking, even after years of it. It’s not like Kieren has other friends to talk to about this. He sits in the cave–their cave–tracing the words they had carved on the wall a few months before. He tries to sit and draw, get some sort of art out of his fingertips and all he ends up with are crap drawings that he rips up and shoves into his coat pockets.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe this is part of the shit he has to go through to be a proper artist. Maybe one day he’ll looking back on this and laugh, or maybe he will create his best work through this pain. Transform this pain into something better. But all he keeps getting is shit, and more shit, and then some more. The cave used to  _mean_ something, and now it just feels like a place that died when Rick left. Kieren walks home. It's chilly out, and Kieren wraps his hoodie closer around him. There aren't many people out, and even if there were, it's not like any of them would talk to him anyway. He passes Rick's house. He half expects to see Bill's glowering face through the curtains, but it's still inside. 

He finally reaches his house just as the sun is about the set at the end of the street. Jem is in her room, blasting music, and his parents are sitting watching the news. Something about an election. God knows Kieren doesn't care. He walks up to his room, and stares at the walls. There's something sick about the way his parents put his art up everywhere in the house. There are only a few pieces Kieren actually likes of his work, and even those are hard to look at anymore. Kieren flops onto his bed, and pulls out the small shoebox he keeps underneath. 

There's the note from Rick, back when it seemed like this "shite" with Bill could be sorted. Instead they got to sneak around and make out like they were pre-teens at a school dance. And now Rick is gone, with not much of a goodbye. Off fighting god knows who. And Kieren is left here, in Roarton. Alone.

 

Three weeks after Rick leaves, Kieren goes to a party in the town over. He tells his parents he’s going for art supplies, or some shit, but asks Jem for one of her ciders. She raises her eyebrows at him and tells him to be careful.

He isn’t.

He walks to the party, swigging cider as he walks, grimacing at the taste. He's never been a big drinker, but he needs to feel... different for a while. He and Rick would drink the cave, taking turns with a bottle Rick had stolen from his dad. Get drunk enough that Rick would kiss him, would touch him.

Kieren arrives at the party and immediately feels that he’s made a mistake. There’s nothing in Kieren that relishes crowds, or the darkness and the heat. He walks to the back of the house and finds a cooler of beer. He grabs a bottle, and he sips it too quickly and coughs. God. His life is a mess. He feels like a speck in the ocean, small and useless and out of place.

Why can’t he just figure this out? _Fuck it_ , he decides, and he tips the rest of his cider into his mouth, swallowing it down. He burps, the bubbles stinging his nose. He walks into the kitchen and pours himself three shots of rum, and methodically drinks them, like it’s some medicine he’s been made to take. Maybe he should have gone slower, or checked his tolerance (he’s only ever had a couple of swigs with Rick in the cave), but right now he just wants to feel good. Like maybe all the pain up to this point will be preparation for the sweetness of this night. He doubts it, but knocks another shot back anyway.

Even as his head begins to buzz and the colors blur around him, Kieren feels like he doesn’t belong. Like he sticks out, some poor boy who can’t get his shit together, drinking someone else's booze in the kitchen. Kieren turns and walks off to find the bathroom.

The upstairs hall is glaringly bright compared to the darkness of the downstairs. He squints his eyes and makes his way over to what he thinks is the bathroom. He passes multiple closed doors, and he hears people talking in some. One door is open, and Kieren gets a glimpse of a couple of people sitting around a table, talking and smoking a joint. He keeps moving when the turn to see what the noise was. Finally, he finds the bathroom. He stares at his reflection in the mirror as he washes his hands. The buzz from before has given way to proper drunkenness, and Kieren feels just as crap as before. Parties aren't much fun when you're alone.

Suddenly, a slam reverberates through the hall. Kieren jumps, his heart racing. He peers out of the bathroom. Some man is down the hall, standing outside a closed door, lighting a cig. He’s tall, really tall, and broad, and Kieren’s heart races more. He’s pale, his eyes sharp and unfocused all at once. He’s wearing dark jeans, ripped, and a grey tshirt that looks like it’s been worn for weeks. He moves with shocking purpose, considering how fucked up he seems to have gotten himself. His arms are thick, muscular and veiny, and Kieren notes the dark purple and brown marks in the crook of his elbow. The man notices Kieren staring at him, and Kieren notices that his pupils are huge, gleaming in the light.

“Alright?” the man says, and his voice is deep, thickly Irish, and Kieren shivers.

“Yeah, alright,” Kieren murmurs, and the man turns to leave. Kieren waits a couple of moments, a bit stunned, and then he quickly works his way back down into the dark. He goes back to the kitchen, to find that bottle of liquor. Maybe he can get properly fucked up too.

 

Kieren gets himself wasted before heading out into the crowd. He’s not sure if he’s really dancing, but he moves with the music and the crowd, feeling the thrum run through him. He doesn’t feel good, per se, but he doesn’t feel bad either, and he sways with that feeling with as much strength as he can muster. The warmth around him, for once, feels welcome and comforting, and Kieren feels like maybe he understands why people do this.

He feels a warmth at his back, different than the crowd, purposeful and huge. Kieren turns, and is met by the man from the bathroom, sweat slicked into his hair and onto his forehead. He’s grinning, his teeth gleaming in the low light. Puts his hands on Kieren’s shoulders, and they feel huge, like he could eat Kieren whole. He pulls Kieren closer, and Kieren doesn’t know what to do except that he wants to be closer, so he lets him.

The man’s face is so close, their noses slightly brush as they move against each other. He murmurs against Kieren’s lips, “My name’s Simon, by the way.” And then he kisses him. Simon kisses like Kieren only dreamed of, how Rick would never kiss him. Rick kissed like he was terrified. Desperate, like they were in the line of fire. Simon kisses like they have hours, exploring Kieren’s mouth with a sort of patience that turns Kieren’s knees into pudding. Kieren has never felt like this before. Simon seems huge against him, even though he’s only a bit taller, and Kieren wishes he could curl up in his ribcage and stay there, where kisses feel nice and the terror of Bill Macy doesn’t lurk around the corner. Simon kisses down his neck before sucking a hot mark on his collarbone.

Kieren’s just getting hard from the kiss (god, just from a kiss), when Simon pulls away and comes up to Kieren’s ear, breath hot, somehow even hotter than the rest of him, and whispers, “Follow me", before taking Kieren's hand and leading him up the stairs. Kieren's legs are wobbly, like a newborn deer, and he thinks perhaps he's had too much to drink. Simon pulls him into the tiny bathroom, all the bedrooms taken, and presses Kieren up against the cool tile wall. He kisses him with fervor, grasping at Kieren's hips to bring them closer. He's running his hands under Kieren's shirt, his hands rough and calloused and warm. They find Kieren's nipples and Kieren is embarrassed by the sound he makes. Simon takes his time, biting at Kieren's neck and shoulder. Kieren runs his hands through Simon's hair. It's been gelled down, but he can tell it's soft. Then Simon is working at Kieren's belt, undoing his button and pulling down the fly. Kieren must be drunk because Simon's done all of this before he's even aware of what's happening. When Simon cups at him through his pants, he groans and leans back against the wall. Rick had never touched him. Simon seems amused, just rubbing very lightly at him through his pants, like he has all the time in the fucking world. Finally, he dips his hand underneath the waistband, his warm hand right on his dick. 

"Oh, god," Kieren gasps, grabbing onto Simon's arms. 

"You alright?" Simon asks, but there's a smirk in his voice that says he knows Kieren's fine. 

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, you dickhead." Simon smiles again, and then drops to his knees.

_Oh good lord._

Simon's mouth is nothing like Kieren has ever felt. It's hot and wet, and the suction is incredible. Simon occasionally looks up at Kieren through his lashes, and it's all Kieren can do to not lose it right there. Simon's hands are on his thighs, traveling, down to his calves before moving up and playing with his balls. Kieren grabs Simon's hair, and for a moment he's worried he's done too tight, but Simon slides his mouth off and smiles at him. He kisses Kieren's hip like they're not in the bathroom of someone's house, worrying a mark next to his dick. He's mouthing at the base when his fingers travel back, prodding at Kieren's perineum. He then gets his whole mouth on Kieren before brushing lightly at his hole. And then Kieren is done, coming before he can even warn Simon. Simon keeps working on him until Kieren has to push his forehead because his dick is sensitive. He swallows.  _Jesus christ,_ Kieren thinks, barely holding himself up against the wall. Simon stands back up, fixing Kieren's pants and trousers for him.

He's kissing behind Kieren's ear, at his neck, before whispering: "Hey, you wanna get out of here?” Kieren balks. God, out of here? He’s barely given Rick a handjob, and they were plastered, and it had been so dark Kieren doesn’t even remember what Rick looked like. But something, maybe the orgasm, or the loneliness, or the fact that Rick is off somewhere is the desert fucking shooting at someone, makes him nod his head. Trying for confidence when he has none. Simon quirks a smile, and reaches for his hand. It’s warm, and shockingly dry, and the man leads Kieren through the house and the crowd like some sort of messiah.

The cold air of the outdoors freezes Kieren for a moment. He feels so hot, like his skin will steam off in the cold. It feels odd, unreal, like they shouldn’t be just outside of Roarton. Kieren feels like he’s somehow gotten himself to another world. Simon presses his shoulder against Kieren’s, and starts walking, Kieren’s hand laced in his own. They don’t speak on the way to his apartment, streetlights blinking above them.

 

Simon’s apartment is a shithole. Kieren looks away from the small bag of white powder of the coffee table. There are empty beer bottles strewn about, empty fifths. Kieren knows he should feel afraid, or concerned, but all he feels is, thank god he’s more fucked up that me, and then they’re in Simon’s room (or what Kieren guesses is Simon’s room), and Kieren is being pushed on the mattress. The mattress is on the floor, no frame, and there are ripped up magazines and open books strewn about the room. The room feel small, claustrophobic, but Kieren kisses Simon again, just to feel what it’s like. To kiss someone who isn’t afraid to kiss him back.

Simon crawls on top of Kieren, his body flush against him. Kieren doesn’t really know what to do, so he wraps his arms around Simon and keeps kissing him. Simon grinds his crotch down, against Kieren’s dick, and Kieren gasps into Simon’s mouth. Simon removes his shirt mechanically, and Kieren reminds himself that this Simon has probably done this a million times before. Simon’s body is lean, toned, in a way that suggested he’d lived rough before. A line of dark traveled up from his groin, spreading out along his chest. And then Simon is pulling Kieren’s shirt off, exposing his pale chest, flat and thin in a way Kieren never thought to be self-conscious about before.

Simon removes Kieren's trousers and pants quickly, almost clinically, except for the way he lifts Kieren's left leg and kisses at his inner thigh. Kieren is fairly sure he may die of arousal before they get any further. Kieren thought he wouldn't be able to get it back up so soon, especially considering the alcohol, but his dick is making quite the valiant effort. Simon puts Kieren's leg down for a moment to rummage in the small box next to his bed. He produces a small packet of lube and condom, both obviously from some clinic. 

"You ok, love?" Simon asks as he peels open the packet of lube. He starts running the tip of his finger between Kieren's cheeks, and even such a light touch makes Kieren feel like he's about to explode. 

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks," even though Kieren's voice is breathy and soft. He's so turned on and nervous and drunk and excited he doesn't know what to fucking do. So he lets Simon finger him, gasping and moaning at the intrusion. Finally he sits up, and crawls into Simon's lap, so he can kiss him. Simon's fingers find his hole again, pushing in quickly, causing Kieren to shudder in his lap. Simon fingers him for much longer than he needs to, prodding at Kieren's prostate like he's trying to win some sort of prize. By the time he's rolling the condom onto his dick, Kieren is flushed and hot, ready for Simon to just  _fuck him already._

Simon helps Kieren down onto his dick, holding his hips and whispering into his ear. When Kieren is fully seated, he feels like he's being split in two, and maybe it’s because how much he drank, but that feels good, it feels rights, and he chases that feeling. He bites his lip, too fucked out to properly kiss Simon. Simon’s hands are on his hips, broad and warm, helping him move. Simon lets Kieren ride him, set his own pace, until Kieren’s thighs are shaking with exertion. Finally, Simon flips him over, frustrated with Kieren’s weakening legs, and fucks him. He sets a punishing past, and Kieren think, _oh_. And suddenly he wants Rick more than ever because it feels like this man is coring him, and he doesn’t want to feel like this with some guy he barely knows. Exposed and weak, and a moan tears out of his throat against his will. Tears are leaking from his eyes, so he pulls Simon down to kiss him, and wraps his legs around his back. Takes it. It feels horrible, it feels wonderful, and Kieren feels like maybe this is what he gets. Simon reaches down to take hold of his dick, and suddenly Kieren feels so close to coming, that he has to grasp the base of his dick to stop it. Simon’s face is blank with pleasure, his eyes closed and hips pistoning faster than before. Kieren comes, and it feels like a cleansing. Or maybe like shame. He’s not sure, but soon Simon finishes inside him, grabbing at the back of Kieren's neck and pulling his body so close it feels like they could melt together. Then, he pulls out of Kieren quickly, clinically, in a way that seems practiced. He tugs off the condom and ties it off, flinging it into the waste basket at the corner of the room. Kieren doesn’t know what to do- does he leave? Stay? But then Simon is coming back, lying heavy next to him, wrapping those strong arms around Kieren’s middle. Kieren relaxes into the embrace and looks at the water-stained ceiling. Distantly, he hears the sound of thunder.

 

Kieren wakes to a pounding headache. The lights are low in the apartment, which Kieren thanks the lord for. He looks over at Simon. Simon is sprawled out, still asleep, naked as he was last night. Kieren grabs his clothes, quickly pulling them on. He stumbles into the bathroom down the hall, which is a narrow, cramped affair with a shitty toilet and shower with no curtain. He looks at himself in the mirror. There are deep purple bags beneath his eyes, and he looks paler than usual. He peeks back into Simon’s room. He’s laying on his side now, eyes blearily opening.

“Hey,” he murmurs, Irish accent thicker with sleep.

“Hey.”

“You want some breakfast?” Simon asks, and Kieren pauses. He hadn’t expected that. He nods, slowly, and waits as Simon stands and puts on a pair of old sweatpants. They walk out into the kitchenette together, where Simon pulls out a box of cereal, two mis-matching bowls, and a couple of spoons. “There’s no milk, so y’hafta eat it dry,” Simon explains before plonking down on the couch in front of the shitty tv. Kieren sits next to him, scooping dry cereal out of his bowl slowly, completely unsure what to do other than eat this cereal and get out as soon as possible. Simon doesn’t flick on the tv, so the apartment is eerily silent, save for the clank of the occasional pipe. Simon finishes quickly, and disappears into the bathroom. Kieren wolfs down the rest of his cereal, and then sits. Finally, he decides, and starts looking for a scrap of paper. He finds one in a drawer in the kitchen, and he sits back down and begins writing his number. Simon comes out of the bathroom just as Kieren is finishing it off.

“Uh, hey,” Kieren says. “I, uh, have to get going. My parents are gonna be worried.” Fuck. Did he have to mention his parents? Simon nods, mouth closed, before walking towards Kieren. He presses Kieren against the front door, kissing him, hands wandering up Kieren’s shirt. By the time he steps away, Kieren feels flushed and horribly turned on, and Simon quirks a smile and waves his hand. Starts walking back to his room before Kieren remembers, “Uh, my name’s Kieren by the way.” Simon pauses for a moment, and then continues to his room.

Kieren leaves. His head pulses as his eyes try to adjust to the sun. He feels fucked, in more way than one, and wishes he didn't have to go home. Instead, he walks down the sidewalk, toward Roarton. It doesn’t take him long; maybe a twenty minute walk before he’s standing in front of his house, back in the real world. He walks in, carefully, even though his parents are probably already furious. He goes up to his room and sits on his bed. He rests his head on the glass pane of the window. It’s cool, and Kieren kicks himself for being such an idiot.

 

Kieren doesn’t get to wonder if Simon will call him. Three days later, he hears the news that Rick has died. Blown up by an IED. Kieren’s parents tell him on a Thursday afternoon, the sun shining high and bright like some sort of sick fucking joke. It feels like his heart has stopped beating. All this shit, all this crap he has to go through, and it all means shit if Rick can’t be there there. The one good thing in his life, his shitty, shitty life, and Rick goes off and gets killed. Blown to pieces. Kieren runs to the cave because he doesn’t know what else to do. He has his knife in his pocket, but he has nothing more than an idea. Just that this feels something like dying, and he just wants to get this horrible, wretched feeling _out_.

When he finally reaches the cave, he almost has the ridiculous thought that Rick is going to be there to greet him, like he was just upset about some bullying in school, or his parents not listening to him. Not like he was coming to mourn his best friend. He sits in the cave, candles lit all around him, and traces the “Ren + Rick 4ever” with his finger. The rock feels like nothing against his skin, and he feels sick.

After he digs the knife into his wrists, he hugs himself. Feels the blood cling to his skin. Kieren told Amy that all he remembered was feeling relief, and it pours through him like water, _relief, relief, relief_ , and he watches as the sun sets over the trees.

 

\+ + + 

 

Kieren walks through the graveyard, hands shoved into his pockets. He doesn’t particularly relish the idea of being back here; his flashbacks to this place were never all too pleasant, the hole where his remains once lay sets his mind alight with years-old panic. He’s glad Amy’s back though, so he’s willing to make the trip. He walks up through the grave markers, and suddenly he notices someone sitting on his grave. Someone tall, with dark hair and a huge parka. His shoulders are hunched in a way that make him seem bigger, if that’s even possible.

“Excuse me,” Kieren says, hating the way his voice sound much less authoritative than he intended. The man turns around, and Kieren sees he’s PDS. His skin is white, small blue veins running up through his cheeks, and his eyes are blown white. His stare is intense, and for a moment Kieren forgets what he was going to say. “You’re, uh, sitting on me grave.”

The man says, “This you?” and his voice is deep and lilted, Irish, and suddenly Kieren remembers. It’s in bursts, flashes from another life, and Kieren knew if he could, he’d be blushing right now.

“Simon?” Kieren blurts before he can think better of it, and Simon’s eyes widen. When he stands, Kieren remembers even clearer, the house party, feeling wrapped up by Simon, intoxicated by his presence. Simon takes a couple of steps closer, and then stops. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but then Amy is springing forward to introduce the two of them, _like they’ve never fucking met before_ , and Kieren is at a loss. He talks to Simon like he doesn’t know him, because he doesn’t, not really. Getting fucked six years ago doesn’t really mean shit in this life, so Kieren keeps quiet, and when he finally leaves the cemetery, he wonders if his life will ever stop being so fucking _ironic_.

 

 


End file.
